


Who's Got the Pain?

by voiceless_terror



Series: Prompt Fills [15]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Broken Bones, Comfortember 2020, Day 25, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jon is Loopy AF for some of this, Lil Bit of Jon/Tim, Pain Killers, Whump, prompt, season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:02:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27715163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: What Jon didn’t keep in mind was his original reaction to the medication- that strange, loopy feeling that had him leaning on Martin the entire cab ride home. About thirty minutes later, it starts to hit. And all he can think about is Tim’s jumper.Jon breaks his ankle and finally takes the painkillers. The results are...interesting.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker
Series: Prompt Fills [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921006
Comments: 40
Kudos: 302





	Who's Got the Pain?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kaiserkorresponds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiserkorresponds/gifts).



> For the prompt: For the comfortober!!!! If you'd like to do some of them, might I request "Back to school/work"??? Picturing Jon, after being v sick, or recovering from an injury finally coming back to work, maybe recovered, maybe not?? And the crew just totally fussing over him ??

The situation at hand is not ideal.

He’d been carrying boxes, heavy, cumbersome things that blocked his field of vision as he made his way to Document Storage. Tim had cast a disapproving eye; Jon’s not the most coordinated, he knows that. But the least he could do was carry a few boxes of statements to their proper filing place. 

But he managed to, in Tim’s retelling, ‘completely eat shit’ as his leg came in contact with an errant box, causing the one he was carrying to go flying and Jon to fall unceremoniously on the ground with an audible crack. 

Everything’s a bit blurry after that.

He remembers an intense pain in his ankle- he’s been here before, his bones are not the most stable structures (it’s a shame they’re tasked with holding his body together). But that didn’t make the pain any less. Surprisingly, it was Martin who took charge, showing a competence Jon had never seen applied to his research or his Latin translations. He picked him up, managing to avoid putting any pressure on his ankle and summarily put him in a cab, despite Jon’s many refutations that he was fine. 

He stopped that after Martin shot him a very unimpressed look.

He paid the cab driver and Jon let him- the pain was starting to make his brain foggy and his stomach nauseous. Martin waited the full two hours it took to get him admitted, even letting him fall asleep on his shoulder in one very embarrassing instance that he hopes will never see the light of day. The result of his clumsiness- a broken ankle, a cast, and a set of crutches that he threw into the closet as soon as he got home. He had a cane, that should be fine. 

Martin followed him to the door, making sure he was settled on the couch and fixing him a cup of tea as if Jon were an invalid. Sure, the painkillers he was on did not allow for much thinking, but he could manage to take care of himself. When Martin suggested staying a while, just to make sure he was fine, Jon found himself snapping a “No!” and breaking Martin out of his competent stupor. He shook his head a bit, turning red and letting out a nervous laugh. “I’ll uh, leave you to it then. Let me know if you need anything.” On his way out, he turned to him, face serious. “And don’t even _think_ about coming in tomorrow.” He wasn’t- he’s not a complete idiot.

Okay, maybe he did briefly consider it the next morning. But the soreness had intensified, and he knew he probably wouldn’t be able to make it without breaking another bone.

Getting around was...difficult, to say the least. He spent most of the day on the couch, dry swallowing ibuprofen as the painkillers the hospital prescribed were a bit too strong, despite the ease they provided. God, it was so boring. He wished he had the foresight to bring work home. But his assistants’ texts ignored any query about work, only focusing on well wishes and asking if he ‘needed anything.’ What he needed was to do his job. If he was going to be motionless, he might as well be motionless behind a desk.

The next day, the train ride nearly kills him.

Jon manages to find a seat; people are generally sympathetic when they see a cane and a cast. He should’ve taken a cab, of course, but that seemed a little extravagant. He can manage a few steps.

Probably should’ve brought the crutches as well, but they seemed too unwieldy. When he tried them in his flat they’d put too much pressure under his arms, and he wasn’t sure how to go about adjusting them; he quickly got frustrated and threw them to the side. Patience was never one of his strong suits.

But the pain is unimaginable. By the time he gets into work, he’s huffing and puffing, on the verge of passing out. He’d taken ibuprofen again that morning, but it’s doing very little to help him out. As soon as Rosie catches sight of him, she makes sympathetic cooing noises and attempts to take his bag from him.

“Poor thing,” she says after he refuses for the third time. “Are you sure you don’t need help downstairs?”

Quite sure.

The stairs intensify the aching in his joints and he’s sure every one of his assistants hears the tell-tale thump of his cast landing awkwardly on each step. He’s met with three concerned stares, all tinged with exasperation and disappointment. He’s been eliciting those reactions a lot these days.

“Didn’t Elias approve a week of paid leave?” Sasha asks, immediately attempting to take his bag, just like Rosie. And just like with Rosie, he dodges her arms, letting out an involuntary hiss as he puts pressure on his injury. “Honestly Jon, you should’ve stayed home.”

“And where are your crutches, mister?” Tim’s leaning against the wall, looking for all the world like a disappointed parent. “I happen to know that a cane’s not sufficient when you’re in a cast like that. Not to mention uncomfortable, dragging it all around London. What were you doing, hopping down the street?”

“I had a seat on the train, thank you very much,” he says, attempting to hobble away as fast as he can to take refuge in his office. This was all very overbearing. 

“You took the train-?” Martin’s incredulous voice is cut short by a slammed door.

Peace and quiet. His office has always been a nice place to suffer in private.

Not that it remains so for long.

Martin comes in not minutes later, bearing a cup of tea accompanied by a few biscuits. “You don’t seem like much of a breakfast-type,” Martin surmises correctly, “And you’ll need to eat something with the medication they’ve got you on.” Jon does not mention he’s not currently on said medication. It sits in his pocket, heavy and accusing. Instead, he just grunts, barely deigning to raise his eyes from the work in front of him. The door shuts and Jon nibbles at the food before his stomach tells him this is a bad idea. 

He does eventually (and very reluctantly) call one of them in- he still wants to go through the files from two days prior, but he’s going to need a bit of help to get there. Tim doesn’t help him walk, however, instead pushing his office chair into Document Storage with surprising care, and helps him prop his leg up on a box to keep it elevated. Tim hands him the files one by one, sorting by date- it’s an easy, companionable task. Tim always was one of his favorite researchers to work with; there’s a reason he asked him to join his team. He’s wearing a jumper in a nice, deep blue shade. Jon is not immune to Tim’s charm or looks, but he’s mostly preoccupied with how warm it looks. His own button down and sweater vest are barely doing the job.

After about thirty minutes of this, his leg starts to ache- the stretch is no longer pleasant, and he attempts very gingerly to place his ankle on the ground. Needless to say, it does not work out very well. If the chair had about two more inches, his foot could dangle without putting undue pressure on his joints. Alas, the chair is already at its highest. 

Tim notices his fidgeting, zeroing in on the pain in his face. “Need a break?”

Jon sighs. “I’d rather get this box done, at the very least.”

Tim looks thoughtful at this. “Hold on- give me a sec.” He leaves the room but returns rather quickly, two pillows from the break room couch in tow. “Here- lean on me for a mo’, will you?” Jon manages to get to his feet relatively painlessly, leaning most of his weight on Tim’s shoulders as he puts the pillows down as a cushion, lifting him the desired inches he needs. “Better?” Tim smirks, clearly proud of his achievement.

“Much, thank you,” he admits, just happy to continue working. The throbbing is getting worse with each passing minute. They’re eventually interrupted by Sasha, who announces that she’s gotten takeout for everyone- Indian, Jon’s favorite. Elaborate and unnecessary, but appreciated. 

Ten minutes later and he’s sitting in the break room with the rest of them, picking at his curry. He knows he should eat; his mind registers the hunger, but it's hard to feel through all of the pain. Ibuprofen’s just not going to cut it. With great reluctance, he pulls the bottle of pills out of his pocket, unscrewing the cap. Martin notices.

“About time for your next dosage, I reckon?” he questions innocently. Martin doesn’t know he never took the first one, and Jon would like to keep it that way. He can’t handle any more thoughtfulness and care from the man. So he just nods, swallowing two pills and chasing them with water. If he can manage a few more bites of curry, it should be fine. 

What he didn’t keep in mind is his original reaction to the medication- that strange, loopy feeling that had him leaning on Martin the entire cab ride home. About thirty minutes later, it starts to hit. And all he can think about is Tim’s jumper.

It just looked so warm. Jon wants a jumper like that. Maybe he has a jumper like that? He’ll have to check when he’s home. There’s a lot of stuff in his closet- dumb things, remnants from his college days. Probably a few of Georgie’s jumpers. Maybe Georgie’s jumpers are that warm? But none of them are that nice shade of blue. Jon wants a jumper like that, yeah. In a nice shade of blue. He’s going to ask Tim where he got it from. But he’s got to be discreet. What if Martin overhears? And then _Martin_ gets the jumper? They can’t all wear the same jumper, that’s ridiculous. He’s already going to have to coordinate with Tim, make sure they don’t wear it on the same day. Jon’s a grown man, he can’t go around matching his employees.

He lifts the phone, dialing Tim’s extension. It only rings once before Tim’s cheerful voice answers. “What’s up, bossman? Everything alright?”

_“Tim,”_ he whispers, just in case anyone’s listening. “Tim, I need you to come to my office...immediately.” No, he has to give a reason or he’ll be suspicious. Why would he call Tim into his office? “Reports, Tim. Research. Bring...your research. Yes. Goodbye.” That seemed natural enough.

For some reason, all three of his assistants are at the door. No, that’s not what he wants. Not what he wants at all. “I only need Tim.” He’s still whispering for some reason. “The rest of you go away.”

They don’t, pesky things they are. Tim moves closer, face both concerned and amused. “What’s going on, Jon?” He beckons him closer- he’s so blurry, it’s hard to focus. When he gets within grabbing distance he tugs at his sleeve, forcing him close to his face. “Er, boss-”

“Tim,” Jon’s eyes are wide with urgency. “Tim, I need to know where- where you got your jumper.”

Tim makes a face, somewhere between amused and confused. Jon does not understand what’s difficult about this question. It’s very straightforward. “Um, sorry? My jumper?”

“Yes!” His voice gets louder, though he doesn’t mean it to. “It’s just- it looks so warm. And it’s so _soft.”_ His voice starts to wobble and his eyes water as he runs his thumb across the fabric. It’s a _very_ good jumper. “Such a nice shade of blue.”

“Okay, did you take one too many of those pills? You weren’t like this earlier.” Tim’s got one arm on Jon’s chest, attempting to stop his wandering hands as his eyes search the desk. “I swear to god, if you’ve overdosed-”

“Don’t be stupid, Tim.” Why won’t he let him touch the jumper? Does Tim not want him to be warm? Rather rude. “I only took two today.”

“Wait, seriously?” It’s Martin’s voice he hears next. “Oh, Jon. You must have been in so much pain.”

“Obviously, Martin!” The snap comes as naturally as breathing- Jon’s an old hand at that, after all. “But that’s not the point-”

“Whoa there, buddy. No need to get tetchy.” Tim’s got both of his hands on his shoulders, his eyes now patient and kind. “You’re high as hell, aren’t you? Think you should probably have a rest right about now, yeah?”

Jon can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat. Rest? _No,_ he wants-

“I swear I’ll tell you where I got the jumper. Hell, I’ll even get one for you if I can. But only if you sleep.”

Jon sighs wearily. _If I must._ “That sounds reasonable. Thank you, Tim.” He allows himself to be led to a couch, limping all the way. _Oh, that’s quite nice. Yes, that’ll do._ Tim arranges a pillow beneath his head, and Jon hopes it's not the one he sat on before. His stomach growls, and a thought occurs to him; he grabs at Tim’s arm again, forcing him down to his level.

“Jon, I told you I’d-”

“No, that’s not it. I-I threw out some biscuits earlier. Please send my apologies to Martin.” 

Tim’s face is fond. “Will do, boss.”

“And perhaps you could secure me a few more for later.”

A soft snort. “I’m sure I can.”

“Tim, you are invaluable to me.”

“ _God_ I wish I had this on tape-”

A soft click sounds from somewhere in the room as if in response. Tim blinks. “Did you hear that?”

Jon doesn’t answer, already halfway towards sleep. 

“Huh. Alright, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Just a bit of nonsense before Thanksgiving, classic me. Hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked! Would love to hear from you. And have a happy holiday to all who celebrate! You can find me @voiceless-terror on tumblr for prompts/asks. See you soon!


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